Video Killed the Vaudeville Star?
by Demosthenes23
Summary: When a theatre is burned down and a mans body is discovered within, Murdoch must find the culprit responsible. Explores the emergence of the film industry in the late 1902's. *Volume X of the alternate timeline series.*
1. The Man in Ruins

It had been a year of firsts. For the first year ever, our stout hearted inspector was without his beloved queen mother. This resulted in the first ever Victoria Day celebration on May 24th, 1902. The gang was now in the Edwardian era, something Brackenreid would lament for years to come. Things weren't all doom and gloom though. Olivia had taken her first steps and spoken her first words (they had been 'Ben' and just a few days later, 'bad'). Speaking of Ben, he had finally been allowed a puppy to look after as his own (a gift for his seventh birthday). On a far less pure note, it was also the first time in which Julia and Murdoch had skinny dipped in the same lake she had been caught in all those years ago. Extreme heat and alcohol had been involved. Fortunately this time they had not been caught. Needless to say, that would _not_ have reflected very well on their records.

This year also saw Canada's first ever permanent movie theatre constructed in Vancouver (permanent in the respect that it was used for that one purpose only). It was called The Edison Electric Theatre, so named for the father of modern film technology (who also tried to attain a monopoly on the industry but I won't be getting into that, let's just say he wasn't successful).

Toronto may not have had a permanent structure that was wholly devoted to showing movies, (or 'flickers' as people back then sometimes referred to them since the images were not exactly stable) but it did have several establishments that one could view the latest film in (I'm guessing). This story begins with just such an establishment, or rather, it's scorched remains.

"Has the fire chief determined the cause yet, Murdoch?" asked Brackenreid as they wandered around in the blackened structure, looking for additional clues.

"Yes, sir. It's definitely the work of a fire bomber. We've found evidence of a molotov cocktail."

"A fire bug, huh? What of the body? Have you identified the poor bugger?"

"It's bodies, sir."

Brackenreid raised his eyebrows at that. "I was informed that there was only one." Scowling, "Higgins had-" here he slipped on some shifting boards and Murdoch quickly supported his weight before he fell. "Thanks, me old mucker!"

"Don't mention it, sir." Brief silence. "You misunderstood me before, sir. There was only one human body present but there was also what appears to have been a rather well fed cat."

His boss smirked. "A fat cat?"

"Yes, sir."

He laughed. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed merrily, laughing some more. Murdoch cleared his throat and that sobered him up. "Yes, well, what of the bloke?"

"His identity remains unknown. No one was listed as a tenant to this building. In fact, it was not designed for living in. It was a theatre of sorts owned by a Mr. Prenfrew." Murdoch smirked inwardly at that, remembering the time Julia had given him that alias.

"So a street rat then? Maybe he snuck in after hours?"

"It's possible," said Murdoch, "but the feline element is causing me to think otherwise."

Brackenreid looked at him confusedly. "But those types usually have some sort of stray for a pet."

"Yes, sir," he replied, nodding, "but none so well fed."

The inspector made a face as if to say, 'Oh I get it now and boy do I feel stupid!'

Murdoch led his boss over to where his wife was hunched over the mans body. Both had been moved to outside of the destroyed area (on the sidewalk) as kneeling in that debris would have ruined any clothing that came in to contact with it and there was no sense in her skirt becoming sooty. That wasn't the only reason though, as previously illustrated, the rubble was fairly loose and it was easy to lose ones balance.

"What have you, Julia?"

Standing up she grimaced and said, "Nothing, I'm afraid. The fire has destroyed any external evidence that may have been present."

"Hmm, well, thank you anyway, doctor Murdoch."

She smiled and gestured to the two constables standing nearby. They came over and lifted the mangled corpse towards the waiting carriage. Unflinchingly she picked up the dead creature by the tail and joined them. Brackenreid and Murdoch went back into the somewhat structurally unsound building to continue looking around. After another half an hour, they concluded there was nothing else of value here.

They found George nearby interviewing some odd looking people. Their attire was very silly, similar to what a clown might wear but more 'distinguished' if that was the right word for it as they were mostly dressed in black. As well, no makeup was worn.

You may be wondering what George was still doing working at the constabulary after striking it so rich. Well, it had to do with the simple fact that he was and would forever be an eager student of Murdoch's as the mans knowledge was inexhaustible. Besides, what else would he have down with himself? True he could have wholly devoted his time to writing but George was never one to sit still for too long at a time, finding himself easily bored. Murdoch was glad that his protege and brother-in-law had not left the force. For all his annoying foibles, Murdoch still much preferred George to any other helper, so he was additionally glad that there was no other case at the moment. If there had been, George would have taken lead on that as he was still acting detective of station house four and Murdoch would have been left with far less motivated individuals.

"Sirs," George said turning to face them as they approached.

"Anything new to report, Crabtree?"

"Well, sirs, these three chaps,"- he gestured behind him at the eccentrically attired men- "claimed to have worked here on occasion."

"Doing what?" asked the inspector, giving them a once over.

"They were part of the vaudeville circuit and had an act together; The Three Fools." George smiled, "They showed me a bit of it, sirs and I must say, they are quite good! Very amusing stuff, physical comedy!"

Brackenreid made a face. "Vaudeville is crackers! True art will forever live on in the theatre and opera! Nowhere else!"

"As you say, sir," said George quietly.

"Did they know anything about the deceased, George?"

"No, sir, they did not."

"George, track down Mr. Prenfrew and bring him to me at the station. Hopefully he can shed some light on this matter."

Touching the brim of his hat, "Right away, sir."

* * *

An hour later George entered his office and Murdoch looked up from his desk enquiringly.

"Sir, I couldn't locate Mr. Prenfrew. I was however able to find his wife. She's waiting outside right now."

Murdoch looked past George at an annoyed looking middle aged lady who was quite big boned. "Bring her in."

"Sir."

George escorted the woman over and closed the door behind them.

"What's all this about, then?" she asked in a short manner. "I have things to do today. We don't all have the luxury of servants."

"Forgive this intrusion on your time, Mrs. Prenfrew, but I only have a few questions and then you can be on your way." She nodded once and he continued. "Can you tell me where your husband is?"

"Humph," she said making a face, "he could be anywhere. I kicked that rat bastard out days ago."

Arcing his eyebrows, "Oh? And may I ask what the source of this domestic discord was?"

"He was a no good bum, that's what!"

"So he was having an affair then?"

She looked at him incredulously. "That coward? He would never have dared!"

"If not that, ma'am, then what?"

"My dear husband got it into his head that those silly flickers were the future of the entertainment industry! He was going to cut out the other acts and _only_ show those! As if those would bring in any real money! A woman needs to eat! And we were barely making ends meet as it was!"

"I find that hard to believe, ma'am. Your husband was the owner after all."

"Well, it's the truth! That bastard has always paid those tramps far too much!"

"Tell me, ma'am, did your husband own a cat?"

"That damn thing!" she exploded at him, as if this was her biggest object of complaint thus far. "He doted on that ugly furball! He fed it better than me! I had half a mind to eat it myself!" Abruptly and more calmly, "Wait a minute, why do you ask?"

Soberly he caught her eye. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Prenfrew."


	2. Question Everything

Mrs. Prenfrew was understandably in shock when she learned that a mans body had been found in the theatre. However, she refused to believe that it was him and demanded to see the grisly sight for herself. Begrudgingly he agreed and they went to the morgue. The body was badly burned and disfigured and she was less than convinced that it was him even after she positively identified and condemned his cat, Frank.

"Mrs. Prenfrew is quite the character," Julia said after she had been escorted out.

"Yes, that she is," he replied. Slight silence. "What have you determined so far?"

"Nothing that we didn't already know. This mans lungs were seared and full of ash indicating that he did indeed die as a result of smoke inhalation." He contemplated that for a bit. "I'm sorry, William," she said sombrely. He opened his mouth to say something but then saw her mischievous expression. "Sorry that this case isn't shaping up to be as interesting as the time Sally Pendrick blew up a dead mans body."

He smiled and she returned the gesture.

"I'll get Henry to check criminal records." Smirking slightly, "Hopefully Mr. Prenfrew had one."

A criminal record would be instrumental in determining his identity as it would be a resource with which to compare fingermarks and if those were too destroyed, Bertillon measurements. The latter is simply a persons proportions measured in a precise way, but even so, fingermarks would be infinitely more preferable.

Somewhat amused, "Never one to do the leg work, are you?"

"No, my dear, I'm afraid I'm just too full of myself for that. By now you should know that I don't actually do any real police work. I simply show up so that I can do this."

At his last words he pulled her in for a kiss and she giggled like a little school girl in her pleasure and surprise (he rarely did such things with a body nearby, especially such a disgusting one). They parted, still smiling and he left the morgue.

* * *

A half an hour later, Higgins informed him that Mr. Prenfrew had not had a criminal record.

_Confound it! Now what?_

Murdoch went back to the morgue to tell Julia this. She seemed unperturbed by this revelation, meaning she knew something he didn't.

"After further examination of the body, I've determined that this mans foot had been broken sometime in the past. Even through the charred skin, one can clearly feel that it never healed properly."

Not wanting to touch it he said, "I'll take your word for it. Thank you, Julia. I believe this will be very helpful."

* * *

Murdoch paid Mrs. Prenfrew a visit and determined that her husband had indeed had a limp as a result of a war injury. According to her, he had been part of the first Boer War (one is to understand that he was ten years her junior, only about thirty-five). Even so, she still refused to believe that the dead man was her husband.

With this knowledge in hand, Murdoch had an idea on how to positively identify the body; X-rays. Since their discovery, they had been used to treat broken bones during the wars (albeit in this case, they hadn't been of much use). With any luck, Mr. Prenfrew's military medical records would still exist and they'd be able to get access to them. Currently he had George working on that task.

As usual, his protege came through and plopped the thin folder on his desk. Murdoch peeked inside and was satisfied with what he saw. For a third time that day, he headed down to the morgue. The photographic plate was set up by the corpses right foot and Murdoch held it in place while keeping to the side, as he was still dubious about the effects of X-rays on the human body. Him and Julia both.

Julia took the plates and held them up to the light.

Within seconds she said, "Yes, these are definitely the same."

"You're quite sure?"

"Positive."

_Hello Mr. Prenfrew._

* * *

Higgins brought Mrs. Prenfrew down to the station house again. This time she was inconsolable when she heard the news. For all her qualms with her late husband, she appeared to have genuinely loved him.

Once she had calmed down a bit Murdoch asked, "Can you think of anyone, anyone at all that would have wanted to harm him?"

"No," she replied, "everyone loved him. Especially anyone who performed for him. As I told you before, he wasn't stingy with their salaries."

"You also mentioned that he was going to cancel the acts. Was this common knowledge?"

"Yes, I believe so. Garry was always very upfront about things like that." Getting indignant again, "If one of those tramps killed my Garry over a few measly dollars, there will be hell to pay!"

"Mrs. Prenfrew, I understand your feelings, but please don't try to take the law into your own hands. There's been enough death and destruction as it is."

She made a non-committal grunt. Murdoch had Higgins escort her back home.

* * *

The problem with the Vaudeville circuit was that the acts weren't usually confined to one particular location or theatre. There was even an American troupe in town that had recently performed at Le Théâtre Mystique. So theoretically, any one of them could have killed Prenfrew, making it almost impossible to ascertain the killer without significant amounts of time devoted to interviews. And even if they did attempt this, who was to say that the killer hadn't already skipped town?

Fortunately, it was this same dilemma that allowed him to form a solution. Even if Prenfrew cut all performers from his shows, there were still hordes of other places here and across the country that they could find work. So since there was no particular reason for any of these nomadic people to want Prenfrew dead, it was obvious that he needed to focus his investigation on those that had a vested interested in destroying Le Théâtre Mystique, either due to some perceived wrong or financial gain. And it was this notion that led him to another interesting idea. Who was to say that Prenfrew had been one of the intended targets? It seemed far more likely that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. After all, who would have even known that he had been living there? Perhaps his death had been an unintentional side effect?


	3. Finkley's Fine Folks

No matter how genuine Mrs. Prenfrew's distress seemed, Murdoch was obligated to investigate her as well, especially since she was likely the only person who knew of her late husbands previous living arrangements. Furthermore, just because it was unlikely that Mr. Prenfrew was one of the intended targets, did not rule out the possibility all together. At the moment Murdoch had George and Henry looking into the Prenfrew's financial history. If there was anything of note to discover, they would, as they had done countless times before.

In the meantime, Murdoch and Brackenreid headed back down to the entertainment district of downtown Toronto so that they could conduct further interviews. They figured this would be easier than calling everyone in. Besides, this way it would give them a chance to snoop around any potential suspects places of business, possibly yielding some valuable clues. Their first stop was the theatre a block away from the burned down one, Finkley's Fine Folks. From George's initial street interviews, it was apparently common knowledge that there was a rivalry between them. If anyone would want to get rid of the competition, it would be them.

Upon entering, they immediately witnessed some rather extraordinary sights. Two buxom ladies with flowing flaxen hair were dancing expertly to a rather lively ragtime number played by a twenty something negro male on a worn down piano. Their feet were moving so fast as to be blurs. As well, some acrobats and jugglers were in the background making a spectacle of themselves but appeared to be separate from the goings on in front.

"That's the Maple Leaf Rag," said Brackenreid somewhat loudly. "A staple of this genre."

"I thought you did not care for such things, sir?"

Brackenreid scowled and grumbled, "I don't but Margaret makes me go to the goddamn things once in awhile."

As they approached the multitudes on the stage, they noticed a flamboyantly dressed old man jump out of his seat, gesticulating wildly and yelling at the performers to stop.

"No, no, no!" he shouted, the music abruptly cutting off. "That's just not good enough! If you want to keep your slot tonight, be better!"

"And how on earth do you suggest we do _that_?" shouted back one of the irate dancers, hands on her hips.

"That's _your_ problem, Miss Darlow!"

She muttered something that sounded like, 'I'd like to see _you_ try, you incompetent poof.'

"What was that?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Nothing, sir," she replied smiling sweetly.

It was at this silent point that Murdoch cleared his throat prompting everyone to take notice of them. They flashed their badges and Brackenreid said, "We're investigating the destruction of Le...of the bloody theatre that was torched!"

Looks were shared and then Miss Darlow said, "A man was killed too, right?"

"That is correct," said Murdoch, nodding. "It was Mr. Prenfrew."

There were some intakes of breath at that information but for the most part no one reacted.

"Why this is horrible!" exclaimed the other dancer. "I only met him once but I could tell right away that he was a kind, generous soul!"

"Yes," continued Murdoch, "which is why we need your help to get down to the bottom of this."

"They don't know anything!" burst out the man, presumably Mr. Finkley. "They're in from America and aren't familiar with these parts! Besides which, they weren't even out here last night! There was no show, unlike tonight!"

"Listen here, sunshine!" barked Brackenreid, stepping towards the man with cane outstretched and making him flinch, "I don't give a toss about your show! The only thing I care about is catching the bastard responsible for this! And anyone who impedes the detectives investigation will have me to answer to!"

"Oh all right!" he cried, throwing his hands up into the air. "Ask your questions!"

Murdoch, "Did anyone see anything suspicious last night at around eleven o'clock?"

No one responded. Some shook their heads and then the negro hesitatingly spoke.

"Yes, sir, I believe I did." He had a slow, deep, husky voice and likely would be a fine baritone. "But it wasn't last night. It was the night before."

"Spit it out son!" snapped Brackenreid losing his patience.

"I was on my way to the hotel after visiting with some old friends, when I saw someone lurking in the alleyway by the theatre. They looked to me to be checking the place out. When they saw me, they took off in the opposite direction."

"And did you also see what they looked like, Mr.-?" prompted Murdoch.

"It's Jackson, *Tony Jackson. As to the person, I couldn't say. They had a hooded cloak on and I never saw their face."

"Were they a man or a woman, Mr. Jackson?"

"Again, sir, I can't say, it was too dark for that."

"How tall were they?"

"I'm not sure, but I'd say about Miss Darlow's height."

"With or without her current footwear?"

She had high heeled shoes on that made her several inches taller.

He thought about that for a moment. "Without."

That meant that this mystery person was about five feet, ten inches. Or Mr. Finkley's height.

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson."

"My pleasure, detective."

"Did anyone else notice this hooded individual hanging around last night?" asked Brackenreid.

No response.

"Well, there you have it," said Mr. Finkley. "Please leave now, we have much work to do and little time to do it."

Brackenreid looked about ready to bite his head off again but Murdoch intervened. "Just one more question, sir. Was there any animosity between you and the deceased?"

"What are you trying to insinuate?"

Murdoch smirked slightly. "Nothing, sir, I'm just trying to determine why you are so keen to get rid of us."

"It's like I said before," he muttered, "we have much work to do."

"Not from where I'm standing," said Brackenreid, giving the dancers a wink and making them giggle.

"Forgive me, inspector but you clearly don't know anything about the arts."

Brackenreid looked like his honour had been called in to question and Murdoch again spoke before there was another face off.

"Mr. Finkley, you have yet to answer my question."

Brackenreid was angrily grumbling under his breath. Murdoch heard a few choice British phrases that were not fit for polite company.

"We quarrelled from time to time, it's true. But I would never have harmed him!"

"What was the source of this quarrelling?"

"Oh, he seemed to think I didn't treat my performers properly. Can you believe that?"

"And it had nothing to do with your rivalry?"

Mr. Finkley guffawed. "There is-was no rivalry detective."

"Care to elaborate on that?" asked Brackenreid, having regained his composure.

"Perhaps you don't know how these things work. Someone catches a whiff of contempt and suddenly we must want each other dead. It's the way of show business and always will be. The fact is that there was plenty of business for the both of us. There was no need to take out the competition because there was none. In case you hadn't realized, people are nuts over Vaudeville these days. Business has never been better. If anyone would want to get rid of us folks, it would be the other entertainment types, particularly that Señor Pellegrino at the Opera Company."

"I see, well thank you for your time."

After they left the theatre Brackenreid said, "What do you think, Murdoch? Is the old faerie full of codswallop?"

"I'm afraid I don't have enough information yet to give my opinion one way or the other."

"Someone dressed in a cloak certainly does sound like someone from the opera."

"Yes, sir, it does indeed." Murdoch gave him a pitying look. "If this avenue of investigation is not to your liking, sir, I can always continue by myself."

Brackenreid scowled. "Let's just get this over with. It's not like I haven't been dealt this blow before."

* * *

*Jackson was a well loved pianist who could reportedly play any song from memory that he had heard only once. He also had an incredible singing voice that was operatic. And he was openly gay but I'm not sure if this was the case in 1902 or if it was a bit later, I'm guessing later. My point is that he was quite a rare individual back then.


	4. There's No Business Like Show Business

Murdoch knocked on Señor Pellegrino's changing room door. He was part owner of the Opera Company and also starred in his own productions.

"Come in," said a full bodied voice. A wig was being fitted to his head as another woman applied his makeup. He took one look at them through the mirror and said, "How can I be of service, officers?"

"We're sorry to intrude like this, señor," said Brackenreid, removing his hat as if in reverence, "but there's been allegations made against you."

The man scoffed. "What about this time? It seems every week another rumour is worming its way out of the ground."

"It's in relation to Le Théâtre Mystique," said Murdoch.

"Ah, yes, I heard, such a tragic lose."

"Tell me, señor, do you own a cloak?"

He made a face. "That is like asking if a man needs air to live." Murdoch continued to look at him in a pointed manner. "Yes, detective, I have a cloak, several in fact. I am in opera after all!"

"And were you wearing one of these cloaks last night at around eleven o'clock?"

Pellegrino narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "If that's your way of asking if I burned the place down, the answer is no."

"Do you deny disliking the Vaudeville circuit?"

"No, I do not. I find the whole thing to be in utterly poor taste. And don't even get me started about those flickers."

"I couldn't agree more," muttered Brackenreid. "Waste of space."

"But that's not to say that I'm about to go burning buildings down, and certainly not while Mr. Prenfrew was sleeping!"

"And how did you come to know that, señor?" enquired Murdoch, sharply. "It's hardly common knowledge."

He shrugged, "What can I say? Word travels fast around these parts."

"So this contempt is not a product of fear?"

"I'm sorry, detective but I don't have the pleasure of understanding you."

"You didn't consider vaudeville a threat to your livelihood?"

"Certainly not! Vaudeville is a passing fad, just like those flickers. Mark my words. In a few years, it will be as if they never existed."

"And you didn't feel the need to help this process along?"

"I grow weary of these repetitive questions, detective. Have you nothing of relevance?"

"How tall are you, señor?"

"See for yourself, detective," he said standing up.

The man was well over six feet tall, it was unlikely he was the hooded figure but not impossible given how unsure Mr. Jackson had been.

"There, did I pass your little test?"

"Possibly."

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to give!"

"Before you go, señor, may I borrow your cloaks?"

He sighed. "If you must. They're over there on the rack."

"All of them?"

"Yes, detective, as far as I know. And do try not to ruin them with your scientific exploits." Murdoch raised his eyebrows at that. "I've read all about you in the paper. I know your reputation."

"I'll do my best, señor."

Sighing again, "I guess that will have to do. Good evening."

"Before you go," said Brackenreid, whipping out a pad of paper. "Do you mind if-"

Pellegrino smiled and signed the autograph book.

"It's always nice to meet a fan. I hope we don't meet again under less favourable circumstances."

"As do I, señor."

* * *

On their way back to the station house and as they were sharing a carriage, they discussed their findings so far. Not surprisingly, Brackenreid's money was on Mr. Finkley. After that comment, Murdoch couldn't help but make a certain observation.

"Forgive me, sir, but it seems to me that _you_ could very well be the killer."

Brackenreid looked taken aback. "How do you mean, Murdoch?"

"As far as I can tell, you share a lot of the same mentality as someone who would want the theatre burned down."

Begrudgingly he conceded the point. "Yes, I suppose I do. Are you trying to get at something, Murdoch?"

"Just this, sir. We still don't know nearly enough about this case. Anyone could be guilty. It's far too early to be jumping to conclusions yet."

"Do you always have to be such a smartass?"

Smiling, "Yes, sir, I believe I do."

* * *

Murdoch was busy examining the cloaks under the magnifying glass, looking for anything out of the ordinary but specifically trace elements caused by a fire. He didn't have high hopes of finding anything though as the fire had been started outside of the building (by tossing the molotov through a side window) and because of this, the bomber likely wouldn't have had a chance to get his cloak singed or covered in soot. And all of that was assuming Pellegrino or someone who had access to the cloaks was even the culprit. But none of this was going to stop Murdoch from looking.

"Sir," said George knocking for once on his office door.

"Yes, George?"

"We've finished going through the Prenfrew's finances like you asked and discovered that Mrs. Prenfrew was telling the truth. They were mostly bankrupt."

This was at odds to what Mr. Finkley had said about the Vaudeville business booming.

"So his business was going under then?"

"No, sir, it was thriving actually." Murdoch looked at him confusedly. "In speaking with his friends, I've determined that Mr. Prenfrew had a bad habit."

"What, George? Gambling?"

George smirked, "No, sir, nothing like that. He was a rather charitable man and was always giving away far more than he had any right to. Mostly to other poor souls that survived the wars. They all either had an ailment or injury that prevented them from going back to work."

Even more puzzled. "Who would want him dead then, George?"

"I believe I might also have the answer to that. Mr. Prenfrew had substantial life insurance, something he felt necessary to get after coming back from the war. At least, that's what his broker said."

Raising his eyebrows. "Hmm, I thought his wife was sincere."

George smiled, "Well, she did throw a hissy fit when you first spoke to her. She's a fickle one, to say the least."

"Yes, that she is."

"Should I bring her in?"

"No, George, not tonight, it's late. Why don't you go on home to your family?"

"I wish you would take your own advice, Will."

Not long after, Murdoch's wife made an appearance.

"I'm almost done here, Julia," he said before she could say anything.

"Have you discovered anything of value today?"

He looked up. "Yes, but not in relation to these cloaks."

After he quickly filled her in she said, "If Mrs. Prenfrew is responsible, it could explain something else I discovered on the body."

"Oh?"

"After I boiled the charred flesh away, I found a slight fracture to his skull indicating that Mr. Prenfrew had been knocked unconscious prior to his death."

"Then why not finish him off right then and there? Why burn him alive?"

Julia shrugged. "I suppose she didn't have the heart to do it in person. Or she was simply covering her tracks to make sure she would be guaranteed the life insurance."

"I suppose," said Murdoch, not at all sounding convinced.

"Well, in any case, you will find out tomorrow. Right now you are coming home to see your children. There will be no excuses from you tonight, detective."

* * *

"Mother! Father!" exclaimed Ben running over to give them a both a hug. Jonny, their Jack Russell Terrier puppy followed, barking and sprinting madly and Murdoch patted him on the head making him wag his tail even more vigorously.

"Good boy."

"You'll never guess what Jonny did!"

"What would that be, son?" asked Murdoch.

"I'll show you!"

He jumped a few paces back from them and called the dog to his side. Connie their maid, cook and babysitter, watched in the corner at the goings on, a faint smile across her face.

"Sit!" he commanded.

Jonny was panting and still wagging his tail.

Frowning, "I said sit!"

Then the pooch cocked his head to the side which made his tongue loll out comically.

Ben stomped his foot in frustration. "Sit, Jonny, sit!"

Instead of listening he started jumping at Ben's legs. The poor boy turned to face them and in a defeated voice said, "He did it before."

"Yes," said Connie, "he's quite right. I witnessed it myself."

Murdoch muttered to his wife, "If this is the rate at which he learns, it will years before he's house broken."

Julia smiled at that and out of the corner of her mouth said, "I'd be more concerned with your daughter." What she said aloud was, "Do not fret Ben. I'm sure he will get the hang of it sooner or later."

Grumbling, "I wanted to impress you. Stupid Jonny."

He trudged out of the room, Jonny following close behind, barking happily.

Connie got their attention again and said, "I've fed Ben and Olivia their dinner a few hours ago so the food needs to be warmed up. Would you like me to do that for you?"

"That's fine Connie," said Julia. "You can go home now."

"Thank you ma'am."

Within another minute she was out the door and while Julia tended to the roast, Murdoch went to go check on Olivia. She was now over sixteen months old and was still the prettiest, most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. He doubted that would ever change, though he often wondered if there was another child in his future.

When he pushed open the door, it squeaked and she immediately opened her eyes. He made a mental note to grease the hinges.

"I'm sorry, Olivia."

"Dada," she murmured sleepily, stretching out her limbs.

"How are you tonight, Olivia?"

She stared at him wide-eyed, not fully comprehending the question.

He smiled and pointing to his mouth said, "Are you happy?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'll let you get back to sleep."

But she held out her chubby arms to him and he picked her up, letting the warm sheets fall back into the crib. He called for Ben and his son came running, Jonny forever at his heels. Then they sat down and had a nice family dinner together like they did most nights. Murdoch insisted on his son being there even if he had already eaten. This was about the only time that he had a chance to catch up with the events of his sons day. For in a short while, Ben would be put to bed and then it would be morning and it was off to school.

After supper was over, Murdoch helped Julia with the dishes, wishing there was some sort of contraption that would do this for you. He knew there were some impractical hand powered devices but he wanted something you could stick it in and let the machine do all the work. He resolved to look into this matter if time ever allowed.

Once that was done and both Ben and Olivia had been put sleep, Julia ran a hot bath and doused the water with lavender smelling bath soaps. A small amount of foam formed as a result but it was still pretty pathetic considering the amount she had used. Murdoch watched as she undressed and then slipped into the water, sighing with contentment as it embraced her up to her neck.

Eyes closed she said, "Well, detective, care to join me?"


	5. Interrogations Galore

**Note: For those who didn't notice, I posted two chapters in one day last time.**

* * *

The first and possibly last interrogation for this case was underway in interrogation room two. Brackenreid and George were watching the goings on from the viewing 'window.' Mrs. Prenfrew was predictably bristly when it became apparent that she was under suspicion of killing her husband.

"Were you aware that the reason for your money woes was _not_ due to overpaying his employees?"

"What do you mean? What else would he have been doing with it?"

"Charity, Mrs. Prenfrew, he was giving it away to charity. Specifically those who served in the wars. Do you have any idea why he would have been doing that?"

She was troubled. "He used to talk about it some, his time in the war. The things he had to do, they...affected his mind. He tried to hide it but I could see how lost he was inside. I tried to help him... but I couldn't. I imagine he was giving all our money away out of survivor's guilt."

It was Murdoch's turn to be confused. "But the men were not dead. He was not giving it away to their widows."

"Well, then, they were broken in some way or other, right?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"There you have it. Garry always wanted to fix everyone else's problems, he never wanted to deal with his own."

"And you had quite a few I take it?"

Frowning, "What of it? Every couple does."

"Did you often get into physical altercations with one another?"

Narrowing her eyes further, "No, he never laid a hand on me."

"And what about you, Mrs. Prenfrew? You are a robust woman, did you never strike him in anger?"

"No, I most certainly did not!" she shouted, slamming the table with her fists.

George made a move as if to go in but Brackenreid barred his way. Murdoch simply seemed amused by her display.

"You are not helping your case, Mrs. Prenfrew."

No response as she seethed. Whether smart or not, Murdoch pushed on with this interrogation.

"Were you aware that your husband had life insurance?"

She became wide eyed. "No, I did not."

"So you did not kill him for the money?"

"How dare you accuse me of that!" she yelled, hopping to her feet, the chair flying out behind her. Murdoch was unperturbed.

"Sit down, Mrs. Prenfrew."

She grumbled and did as he said.

"When we first met, you had a number of grievances against him. Chief among them were your financial concerns."

"That may well be the case, but I didn't kill him over them! No matter our problems, I always loved him!"

"Where were you on Wednesday night at eleven o'clock?"

"At home, of course, in bed."

"Can anyone corroborate that?"

"I don't see why they would. Anyone I know would also have been asleep by then."

"You can see how this poses a problem. After all, you have no alibi and you were the only person to know your husband was staying in the theatre."

Mrs. Prenfrew laughed without mirth. "There you are wrong, detective. I wasn't the only one to know that. One of his past employees also knew."

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"One of those idiots, what were they called-"

"The Three Fools?"

"Yes!" she agreed, nodding, "one of them."

"Which one?"

"I don't know, they all look the same to me in their silly outfits."

"Why did you not inform us of this earlier?"

"You never asked."

Murdoch became suspicious. "I hope you did not do anything foolish to those men, Mrs. Prenfrew."

At that, she crossed her arms and would say no more.

It was obvious that if she _was _guilty, she was not going to give herself up. Her demeanour signalled the end of the interview. This new information could be a wild goose chase but it could also lead to something of value. Besides, without further conclusive evidence, he could not charge her with anything.

"Well, Mrs. Prenfrew, you are free to go. But we'll be in touch so do not attempt to take any sudden vacations."

Higgins was ordered to keep a close eye on her from now on, to his utter delight.

* * *

It took some time as they didn't have their real names but they eventually tracked down the three men. This time they were normally attired in suits. Murdoch interrogated them one by one as they were located. The first suspect was completely useless and too dimwitted to have pulled this off, the second was far more plausible. He was a very handsome, lean and tall, thirty something man. Murdoch imagined he would be quite popular with the ladies even taking into account his obvious self absorption and vanity.

"Has Mrs. Prenfrew visited you in the last day, Mr. Steadman?"

"As a matter of fact," he said somewhat annoyed, "she did. Accused me of killing her husband and threw a plate at my head." He stroked his face with his thumb and forefinger and smiled. "Almost marred my loveliness."

"Why didn't you report this?"

He shrugged. "She was grieving. I figured she had gone a little mental."

"Mr. Steadman, you claimed to know nothing about the deceased when you were first interviewed."

"Yes, that is correct. I had no idea it was Mr. Prenfrew."

"So you did not know that he had been living in the theatre for several days prior to his death?"

"Why would...ah, a product of his dear wife, no doubt."

"Yes."

"How unfortunate."

"Indeed. It's a pity that he was there."

"No, that's not what I mean, detective."

"Then what, sir?"

"Mr. Prenfrew had recently approached me with an interesting idea. He seemed to think I would make quite the star on the big screen and wanted to introduce me to his friends across the border. As you can imagine, I was quite flattered by this notion. Flattered but unsurprised."

"And were you going to accept? Were you going to give up Vaudeville?"

"Absolutely! Do you know how much I detest this work? Constantly making a fool of myself for others amusement? It is too much to be borne!"

"Forgive me, Mr. Steadman but if that was the case, I fail to see why you were doing this in the first place."

"It was a favour to an old friend."

"Who?"

"Sam Dunder. We go way back. Besides, I was having trouble securing work at the time so I didn't see the harm. After all, handsome men need to eat just as much as the rest of you. But apparently my luck is just as atrocious as ever."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Despairingly, "Isn't it obvious, detective?" Whatever chance I had of making it big, died as soon as Mr. Prenfrew did."

At those words, Murdoch instinctively knew what had happened. In order to prove his theory, he had to talk to the final man.

* * *

"You found out about Mr. Prenfrew's offer to David, didn't you, Mr. Dunder?"

"What are you talking about? What offer?"

"Come now, sir, don't play coy. I know you knew about it. David told me as much."

"Okay, fine, I knew about it, so what?"

"This must have been troubling news to you. If David accepted Mr. Prenfrew's offer, it would mean the end of your act. You didn't want that to happen, not when business was booming. So you took matters into your own hands. You killed Mr. Prenfrew before he could ruin everything."

"No, I didn't!" he exclaimed, becoming frantic. "When I last saw him that night, he was still alive!"

"You saw him the night of his murder?"

"Yes. When I found out about the offer to David I wanted to talk to Mr. Prenfrew about it. But he wouldn't listen to reason! I was just so angry and I guess I must have hit him!"

"And what happened after you hit him?"

"His head smacked against the wall and I was afraid I had killed him. But then he opened his eyes and appeared to be fine. I left soon after."

"So you did not burn down the theatre later?"

"Absolutely not! I was mortified when I learned what happened! And I knew what you would think so I kept my mouth shut!"

As far as Murdoch could tell, Mr. Dunder appeared to be sincere but he had been wrong before.

* * *

"It was her," said Brackenreid a little later in his office. "It's always the wife." Murdoch opened his mouth. "Don't bloody well say it."

Murdoch had been about to say he had his doubts. Assuming the cloaked individual had come back the next night and was responsible for the fire, Mrs. Prenfrew was much too short to be the killer. Besides, she had already accused three other men of murdering her husband. So unless it was all just for show, it was highly unlikely she was the killer at this point.

"Sirs," said George, "there's still one thing that's been bothering me."

"And what would that be, George?"

"Well, if Mr. Prenfrew had such a great need to give all his money away, why was he planning on tossing out the acts? Why would he risk ruining his business for an unsure thing like flickers?"

"You make a good point, George. I don't have the answer."

"I'll tell you why," said Brackenreid, a perturbed look crossing his features. "It's like the wife said, he had a few bolts loose in his noggin. I've seen the type before, hell, I've _been _the type before. You lose sight of things and you become a restless wanderer, always wanting to move on to some new scheme, always trying to distract yourself from the terrible thoughts inside."

There was silence for awhile, during which the inspector poured himself and consumed a drink.

"In any case," said Murdoch, "we still have to determine a new course of action. We have no evidence as of yet, just ideas, just theories."

"That's right, me old mucker, we need something more concrete to prove the wife did it." Again Murdoch opened his mouth and again his boss told him to can it.


	6. Dead Ends

All roads were leading to Mr. Finkley. He was the right height for the cloaked individual and no matter what he said, Murdoch thought there was more to the rumour of a feud than he let on. They even found a cloak amongst his possessions (albeit it was hidden well). So it was that he was being thoroughly interrogated back at the precinct.

"All right," he said, throwing up his hands, "I admit it! I was in the alleyway the night before his murder!"

"And what were you doing there, sir?"

"I was spying on Gary," he muttered. "I was on my way home that night when I saw that glutinous creature of his run...or rather, shuffle into the theatre. Gary was never very far away from that...thing so I assumed he must be nearby. I wanted to see what he was doing there so late." He smirked and then quickly hid it. "Poor man."

_No doubt you were planning on using this knowledge to your advantage when and if it were ever needed._

"So you knew he was living there and yet you didn't put forth this knowledge to the constabulary when a body was found? Surely you can see how I find that suspicious, sir."

"Yes, which is exactly why I _didn't_ say anything. Given our reputation, it seemed best not to associate myself with the remains."

"Regardless, Mr. Finkley, I will need to check your alibi for Friday night."

He seemed incredibly relieved at this information and said, "But of course, detective. I was out with friends until well past midnight."

"I'll be needing a list of their names."

"Whatever you need, detective, I am your humble servant."

George confirmed his alibi. Therefore the only viable suspect now was Mrs. Prenfrew. But with no way to positively determine her whereabouts that night, Murdoch was forced to turn to a rarely used tactic: the pneumograph or as George tried to sell it once, the truthizer. One might think that Murdoch would always use such a thing since it was highly accurate in determining lies, but the problem was that the courts still did not recognize such a thing as admissible testimony. Even to this day, they barely liked fingermarks as a source of evidence though they begrudgingly allowed it. They still seemed to much prefer written confessions to anything else (even if they were obtained by beating the suspect up). This was simple, this was easy to comprehend for their unscientific, often backwards thinking minds.

But again they hit a dead end. It was quite clear that she had not been lying about killing her husband. So unless she somehow figured out how to trick the machine within a few seconds, she was not their arsonist. Not surprisingly, Brackenreid avoided this revelation like the plague, going into coughing fits whenever either George or Murdoch mentioned it.

It took much deliberation but in the end, all they determined was that they needed to go over what they already knew to see if they had overlooked something. Murdoch was still coming up empty handed so he paid Julia a visit in the morgue that evening. Perhaps she could be of service as she had been many times before?

She was busy with some paperwork when he entered and so seemed to welcome his interruption.

Taking one look at his expression she said, "I take it you have your doubts as to Mrs. Prenfrew's guilt?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so Julia." He sighed. "Frankly, I am at a loss as to who could have done this."

Smiling, "So naturally I am to be your sounding board once again?"

"If you are not too busy, Julia, that could prove to be quite useful."

Looking around the empty room she said sadly, "I'm afraid I'm quite swamped, detective."

Murdoch smiled and then they discussed the details for the case for about ten minutes before a breakthrough was made.

"Forget everything else for a moment and go back to the basics."

"What do you mean, Julia?"

"Well, William, have you thought about _why_ the theatre was burned down?"

"Clearly it was done out of a strong emotion, whether rage or hatred or otherwise."

"Well, yes, dear," she said stifling a laugh, "that much is obvious. But what could prompt someone to do such a thing? What had Mr. Prenfrew been involved in that caused someone to literally burn his livelihood? Besides Vaudeville?"

Murdoch was silent for a moment and said slowly, "He had been showing flickers-"

"There, detective, _that's_ your answer."

He looked at her quizzically. "_What's_ my answer, Julia?"

"Maybe someone else did not take so kindly to these flickers. After all, from what you yourself have told me, Mr. Prenfrew was about the only man to show such things in Toronto. Maybe someone else had a problem with the content that was shown?"

"Are you suggesting that I look for someone who _viewed_ the flickers?"

"Yes," she said nodding, "precisely."

Murdoch made a face. "But that could be _anyone_, Julia! This hardly narrows the investigation down!"

She frowned. "There's no need to get all huffy with me, William. I was just trying to be helpful."

"I'm sorry, Julia." He rubbed his forehead. "It's just that at this rate, this case could take forever to solve."

"Sometimes in order to narrow ones search, one has to first expand it in order to see the bigger picture." She took his hand and squeezed it. "You'll figure it out. I have faith in you, William."


	7. A Trip to the Moon

And so the monumental task of tracking down a greatly aggrieved individual commenced (the next morning). The logical beginning point would be to ask the ushers if they noticed any particularly agitated people in the last few days. But the constables had already done so during the initial interviews and neither of the two young men had recalled anyone who fit that description. (One is to understand that the movies were shown in conjunction with the acts, as a sort of intermission). Clearly whoever did this (and assuming Julia was correct) had kept their displeasure to themselves and instead lashed out with fire.

However, there was at least one piece of information that could yet be gleaned by the ushers, that of the names of the movies being shown and possibly even their content. If Murdoch was to try and get into the mind of the killer, it would be helpful to know the same things that they did.

They both told him, or rather, George, the same thing; that only one movie had been played during the last week. It was called _A Trip to the Moon_. Murdoch had never heard of such a thing.

"I'm not surprised, sir," said George, "it's only been out for the past two weeks and only in the States. As I understand it, Thomas Edison himself was involved in it's production."

Murdoch raised his eyebrows. "Hmm, now that is very interesting, George, very interesting indeed."

"Would you like me to try and procure a copy of it, sir?"

"Yes, George, that would be most appreciated." George turned to leave but he stopped him. "Oh and George, please don't go spending an inordinate amount of money on it if at all possible."

George gave him a face as if to say, 'please, sir, like I ever have to worry about that!'

"Of course, sir, I'll do my best."

* * *

It was a full day later before they had it in their possession (George had had to retrieve a copy from across the border). The acting detective set it up in Murdoch's office. Julia and the inspector were also present. But all the hub bub surrounding this case had caused a number of constables to be there as well. Brackenreid told them to scram, the curtains and doors were closed and the screening process began.

The movie immediately began very strangely, with a group of men in white wigs and pointed hats, as if they were wizards of some sort. They were in a classroom or an observatory or something as evidenced by the large telescope and chalkboard (which apparently depicted the Earth and the moon). Everyone seemed exceedingly happy about something. One of the men went over to the black board and started drawing something above the planet but Murdoch couldn't make out what exactly, the quality was too poor. But based on the title of the movie, he could certainly hazard a guess.

The scene changed briefly and there was a work crew busy constructing something, Murdoch gathered a space ship. It looked like an oversized bullet.

Again the scene changed and some of the men (in more normal attire) were now on a rooftop somewhere and appeared to be getting ready to get into the ship. There were many women there to send them off and help them prepare for their flight. It was at this point that Murdoch couldn't help but notice how strange everyone's attire was. It certainly did not look very American but possibly that was only because this was a science fiction story? But then the large group of women came out to salute the travellers and Murdoch noticed a curious thing, it was subtle but it was there. The flag that one of the women was holding seemed to be rather blurred, so that one couldn't make out the nationality.

In any case, the crew was shot out of a big cannon and sent hurling through space, something that Murdoch found very reminiscent. If he wasn't very much mistaken, the general storyline to this movie was the same as his favourite novel as a child, Jules Vernes _From the Earth to the Moon. _

_ Ah so that explains their attire. They are from France._

Of course, this version became very silly the longer it continued, complete with moon men holding spears who would disappear in a puff of smoke whenever the adventurers attacked them with their umbrellas.

By the end of it, Murdoch was quite glad it was finished. To him it had felt like ages but in reality it had only been about ten minutes. Brackenreid was of the same opinion as him but Julia and especially George seemed to be quite taken with it.

Excitedly he said, "I think Mr. Prenfrew was on to something with this movie business! I have half a mind to start my own business up here, before someone else does!" Sweeping his arms widely, "There would be theatres across the country so everyone could enjoy them! Each theatre would have a different type of flicker playing in it!"

"Isn't that rather impractical, George?" said Murdoch.

"You're right, sir! There could be more than one movie played in the same theatre! So whatever a person's interests, they'd be sure to find something that suited their tastes!"

"I think that's a wonderful idea!" said Julia, ecstatically.

"Thank you, Julia!" (in his excitement forgetting not to call her that at work).

Even Brackenreid seemed to be getting swept up in their mood. "And what would you call these theatres of yours, Crabtree?"

"Hmm, I don't know, sir...maybe Crabtree's Classics or Crabtree's Cinematics or-"

What he thought was, _Crabtree's Cineplex? Cine for movie and plex meany many?_

What he said was, "That's quite enough, George."

What was important was to determine why someone would have burned down Le Theatre Mystique after watching this. What could have been so bad about this movie that they felt compelled to do that? Or was Julia completely wrong?

The answer came from an outside source, one of the press, one Ruby Crabtree. As Murdoch was preparing to have his lunch with his wife in the park, George and Ruby interrupted them (Holly was with them, sound asleep in a stroller).

"Do you mind if we join you, Jules?"

She shared a look with Murdoch. "Of course not, Ruby. We'd be delighted."

"Splendid!" exclaimed his sister-in-law.

They got to talking about the case and Ruby said incredulously, "Did you say it was called A Trip to the Moon?"

"Why, yes, Ruby, I did," said Murdoch. "Does that mean something to you?"

"I should think so," she replied. "I am writing a story about just such a thing!"

The other three shared a look and George said, "What do you mean, dear? What story?"

"I received an anonymous tip a few days ago about the possibility of a large scandal surrounding that flicker."

"Scandal?" enquired Julia. "How so Ruby?"

"Well after doing a considerable amount of digging, I discovered that that movie was_ not _produced by the Americans."

Again they shared a look but this time Murdoch clued in.

"The Parisians," he said quietly.

"Just so, detective," said Ruby. "Apparently Edison had sent his team over to Paris in order to steal the film from the French filmmaker Georges Méliès."

Murdoch was shocked to hear such a thing about his long time idol. Could it really be true?

Julia got indignant. "So they stole this man's work and then shamelessly toted it as their own for their own financial gain?"

"Precisely, Jules."

Muttering, "It's no wonder that someone wanted to burn down the theatre."

"Who was your informant Ruby?" asked Murdoch.

"As I said before, William, they were anonymous."

"Yes, but how did they inform you of this? What was the mode?"

"Over the telephone."

It was too many days later to be able to trace the call but...

"Would you be able to recognize their voice if you heard it again?"

"I believe so, they had a heavy French accent."

"Makes sense," said George, "that it was a French man."

"It was a woman's voice, George."

"But there's something I still don't understand," said Julia. "Why would they burn down the theatre _and_ inform you of this deception? That seems like rather seperate schools of thought."

"I don't know, Jules."

"Well, Ruby, _when_ were you informed of this?" asked Murdoch.

"On Friday night."

"When, specificially."

"At around seven, just before I left for the evening."

Murdoch was silent for a time.

"What are you thinking, William?" said his wife.


	8. Hollywood Hijinks

If it was a French woman who committed this crime, it stood to reason that she was a Parisian or at least had been in Paris recently. This was because the film had been playing in Paris for about a month before the Americans started playing it in their own country, something Ruby had found out with her various contacts over there. So this would tend to imply that the arsonist had seen the movie over there first and then realized the same one was being played here without giving credit (or payment) to the creator. But Julia's query was still puzzling him. Why do both of those things? Why not simply expose the American's outright? Why burn down a Canadian theatre? What had they hoped to accomplish? Or was that the point? They _hadn't_ been thinking and instead acted on emotion alone? But then why had they contacted Ruby first and _then_ burned it down?

Before Murdoch could ruminate on this topic further, there was a kerfuffle surrounding the constables in the main body of the precinct. They were scrambling to get outside. Brackenreid was not present as he had been dragged to the dentist by his wife and George. Interest peaked, Murdoch went out to investigate.

"Henry, what on earth is going on?"

"Sir!" he said, grabbing his hat, "there's been an attempt on Edison's life!"

"What?!" exclaimed Murdoch, also grabbing his hat. "What do you mean?" he asked as they rushed out of the precinct. "What was he even _doing_ here?"

"I don't know, sir, I don't have all of the details!"

They hopped on their bikes and within a few minutes spotted a large crowd circling something or someone. Murdoch jumped off and ordered everyone to step aside. Parting like the red sea, he made his way to the eye of the storm, Henry following in his wake. Except instead of a great calm, there was the complete opposite. Edison was off to the side with someone Murdoch didn't recognize, both looking quite shaken but unharmed. But in the centre there lay a clearly dead man in the arms of a bitterly sobbing woman. He had been stabbed in the chest and blood had pooled all over the ground and the woman as well.

For a few seconds he was stunned. Out of all possible ways of finally meeting his idol, he never dreamed this to be one of them. Coming to his senses, he got down to business.

"Henry, get these people out of here!"

"Right away, sir!" he said shooing them with his hands as if they were pesky flies.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I have to ask you to step away from the body."

In response she simply wailed all the more and clutched at him tighter, causing her hands to run red with dead blood.

"Ma'am-"

"Leave her be, detective," said Edison, coming over to him. "She saved my life!"

"Mr. Edison, could you please elaborate on what happened here?"

"Well, I-" Another large cry from the desperate woman on the ground. "I'm sorry, detective but I can't focus here. Do you mind if we remove ourselves to another location?"

"But of course, sir."

By now the other constables who had been on foot arrived and Murdoch had one of them escort Edison and his friend back to the precinct. Which meant Murdoch must once again deal with the piteous creature in front of him. With the other constables help, they removed the woman from the corpse with great difficulty and then took her to the station house as well. Her cries could be heard for a long time down the way.

"Henry, transport this body to the morgue as soon as possible."

With that accomplished, Murdoch himself made his way back, all the while wondering how this had occurred.

Since the woman was still inconsolable and Julia had been forced to give her a sedative, it would be awhile before she could be questioned. Therefore, Murdoch continued his interview with Edison and his friend, Mr. Horseley, in his office.

"Please start from the beginning, sir."

"Well, detective, I had been up in Sudbury tending to my mining interests when I received a call from some reporter, forgot her name."

"It was Ruby, sir," said Mr. Horseley.

"Ah, yes, that's right. Anyway, she wanted to discuss something with me before she printed a certain damning story. Normally I don't pay attention to such things but as it was, my land appeared to be utterly useless and as such, I had been planning on returning home for quite some time. I figured on my way back, I might as well see what she was going on about."

"You were on your way to the Gazette?"

He nodded. "That's where I was headed when that lunatic attacked me!"

"Do have any idea why he did so?"

"He yelled something or other in French. So no, I don't know why."

Murdoch had a pretty good idea himself.

"And then what happened? How did he end up dead?"

"That woman screamed at him, also in French, and while he was momentarily distracted, Harris and I managed to wrestle the knife out of his hand. Unfortunately, in doing so, we inadvertantly stabbed him ourselves." Suddenly he seemed to become very weary and rubbed his temples. "What a dreadful affair."

"Indeed, sir."

"If that's all, detective," said Horseley, "I think we'd very much like to be on our way."

"Not quite, sirs. I just have a few more questions. They are likely going to be very similar to what Ruby was going to ask you."

"I don't know,-"

"I believe there is a connection between the man who attacked you and the reason for her contacting you."

The two men shared a bewildered look.

"Anything to understand this situation better," said Edison.

"Are you familiar with the movie A Trip to the Moon?"

"So that's what this is all about?" he muttered.

"I take that as a yes."

"Yes, detective."

"And did you commission some of your men to steal this film from Monseiur Méliès?"

"I would advise against answering that, sir," said Horseley.

"No, detective, I most certainly did not."

Murdoch could not tell if he was lying or not. He was a fairly inscrutable man.

"Then how do you explain how it ended up over here?"

"I'm afraid I have a rather overzealous team of employees. I never asked them to steal anything...just have a look at what the competition was up to."

_Corporate Espionage? _

He had thought better of him than that.

Murdoch got a confused expression across his face. "But then why have you tried to cover up its origins?"

"Sir, please-"

Sighing, Edison said wearily, "By the time I discovered what they had done, it was already too late. They had begun to show it in theatres across the country without my permission. The hazards of being out of country. I couldn't very well edit the material back to its original format without raising even more suspicion...so I'm ashamed to say, let the matter be."

Murdoch was very disappointed in his idol but tried not to let it show.

"And once this story gets out, then what, sir? Will you rectify the situation?"

A brief hesitation in which he glanced away and then, "I'll do my best, detective." *

"_Now_ are we finished here?" enquired Horseley.

Murdoch was silent for a bit.

"Detective?"

"Not quite. I'll need you to fill out a form before you can be released."

"Is that really necessary?" asked Edison. "I was hoping to avoid that."

Somewhat sternly, "A man is dead, sir. You must give an official statement of what happened for our records. While you are still on Canadian soil, you must abide by our laws."

"All right, all right, detective. There's no need for any of that."

Murdoch had always dreamed of meeting this man and of saying how much he admired him but right now, he could barely look at him. So instead of shaking his hand, he simply gestured towards Henry and told them that he would process them properly.

Not long after, George and Brackenreid returned, the latter holding his jaw in his hands and in apparent misery. As soon as he saw Edison he said, "Bloody hell, is that-"

"Yes, sir, it is," said Murdoch who had come out to meet them.

"My office, Murdoch, now!"

* * *

A few hours later, the distraught woman was able to function more normally and Murdoch had a short chat with her as well.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, detective," she said with a thick French accent. "His name was Léon Rousseau and we were lovers."

"And your name mademoiselle?"

"Aimée Marest."

"Miss Marest, can you explain to me the events that led up to Léon's death?"

He had a pretty good idea by this point but wanted her account first.

Nodding vaguely. "Oui. We had recently come to Canada for a vacation from Paris. Naturally we behaved like most tourists do, and ended up at various entertainment places." She sighed, "If only we had not gone to that particular theatre."

"It had a French name so you felt an attraction to it?"

"Yes, something like that, detective. Anyway, the half time began and with it, La Voyage dans la Lune." Sighing again, this time more deeply. "We immediately recognized it as we had seen it on its opening night back in my home country."

"I take it you enjoyed Méliès work then?"

"Not so much me, but Léon, yes. He was his biggest fan. He aspired to make films just like him."

"And did he not get very angry upon seeing this duplication under anothers name?"

"Well, yes, we had to leave out the side door before it had ended because I feared that this time he would explode. Normally you see, he is very good at controlling his anger. Besides, I was quite angry myself."

Which explained why the ushers did not remember any agitated individuals.

"I managed to calm him down by calling the press and informing them of the situation. I had thought, no, hoped that the end of it. But Léon could not stand the idea of his mentor's work being taken advantage of...and he acted rashly, without my knowledge. When I found out what he had done, I promised to keep quiet."

"Even though a mans body was discovered?"

"That was most unfortunate but Léon had not intended to kill that man and I was not going to turn him in for his mistake."

"But if it was just an accident, why not clear your consciences?"

"Léon was very distrustful of the police, ever since he was wrongly imprisoned a few years back."

There were still a few things unclear to him.

"Tell me, Miss Marest, how did he come to know of Edison's being in town?"

She chuckled somberly. "He didn't."

Raising an eyebrow. "Then how-"

"We had been stopping by the Gazette every morning and evening to get the very first printings of the paper. We wanted to see what progress had been made with the case and also eagerly awaiting the scandal to be made public. Our bad luck continued and we met Edison on our way back to the hotel."

"And Léon just happened to be carrying a knife with him?"

"It was his father's from the war, it's all he had left of him. He always had it on his person. So for him to be killed by it..."

There was silence for a time.

"I think that is everything. Thank you for your time, Miss Marest. A constable will escort you back to your hotel."

"No, thank you, detective. I would prefer to be alone."

"As you wish."

* * *

"To think that all of this was the result of a movie!" said Julia as they walked home that evening, arm in arm.

"Yes, it's hard to fathom."

"I wonder if we'll be seeing more of these types of cases in the future?"

"Oh, I hope not, Julia. If a murder was committed every time someone disliked a film, there would be no end to them!"

She smiled, "Well then, William, you better discourage your brother-in-law from his grand ideas."

His eyes widened. "I had forgotten about that! I'll talk to him tomorrow over our family dinner."

"Good idea, detective. Though it will be a shame." He glanced at her waiting for her to continue, "I rather liked the idea of Crabtree's Cinematics."

Murdoch smirked and said, "I thought Cineplex was more fitting."

"Indeed," said Julia and laughed. "It appears you've put more thought into this matter than you let on, detective."

"Well..."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, dear. But sometimes I feel you live in your head a little too much of the time."

"I'll try my best to be more communicative, Julia."

"That's all I could ever ask of you."

"Good," he said and pulled her in for a kiss.

* * *

* Edison never did make the situation right, he continued to show the film for quite awhile, making a ton of money off of it and never giving a cent of it to Méliès. Soon after, Méliès went bankrupt as he had been counting on making a profit overseas as well as in France. A more important lesson in copyright infringement could not be taught.


End file.
